


Fractured Lullabies

by Shadowed_Oracle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Curse AU, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold as Detective Weaver, Season 7 AU, There are triplets for reasons..., Woven Beauty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28745628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowed_Oracle/pseuds/Shadowed_Oracle
Summary: Season 7 Woven Beauty AU. The Gold family has been separated by Drizella's dark curse. Now Detective Weaver, a widowed father to baby triplets, hires single mother Clarabelle French as his children's nanny.
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	Fractured Lullabies

**Author's Note:**

> So Moonlight91 left a comment on my Fluffapalooza fic last year about Rumbelle ending up with triplets. That sparked a vague idea that somehow morphed and finally grew into this whole Season 7 Woven Beauty AU. 
> 
> Many thanks to the lovely Jackabelle73 for beta reading this.

Weaver stared down at the pale yellow business card he’d been holding for over half an hour, wishing he had already gotten the energy together to call the number on it. But he couldn’t even seem to remember how to enter a phone number into a cell phone -- let alone remember how to hold a phone conversation.

He ran his thumb along the navy lettering in a fancy old fashioned font on the business card reading: “Clarabelle French: Nanny”. 

He felt moisture prick his eyes as he recognized it as the font Lacey used to use on her business cards. He groaned and tossed the card down onto the countertop, pacing the apartment’s small kitchenette trying to keep it together. He was not about to fall apart over a font, for fuck’s sake.

He knew he had been procrastinating, that he should have called the number immediately after Roni had handed him the business card. He knew too that this was not just a case of delaying the inevitable, but rather by waiting, he was sabotaging his chances of success and digging himself into a deeper hole. But despite that knowledge he hadn’t been able to persuade himself to make the call.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Roni’s judgment -- he did (her taste in partners aside). Indeed, she could read people better than many cops he could name. No, it wasn’t her recommendation that had him hesitating, had had him stuck in this loop for days now.

No, he just didn’t want to have to accept that his wife was gone. Or that now his children only had him, a royal fuckup of a man without Lacey. He wanted to be able to stay here and look after them himself, but he’d used up all his leave and couldn’t afford to quit his job. Therefore he needed a nanny. But he didn’t want to need one, didn’t want to have a stranger in his home seeing what a terrible job he was doing of raising his children by himself. 

All week he’d been using variations of that fear and the accompanying paralysis to avoid calling. On the first day he’d been annoyed at himself, but had told himself it had been a long busy day and that if he rung first thing the next morning it’d all work out fine. Except he hadn’t called the next day either. He’d given himself a stern talking to that night and had resolved to call the following day. 

But again he’d failed to call. While it was true yesterday had been busy and exhausting, and that he hadn’t had a single quiet moment to himself until nearly midnight, that still didn’t excuse his delay. The situation was getting more urgent by the day, and it wasn’t as if he couldn’t have taken a few seconds to type out a quick text message. But he just hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it -- because to do that would be to admit he needed this woman’s help. 

He knew that thought was ridiculous. He and Lacey had been talking about hiring a nanny for a while. They just hadn’t gotten around to making a final decision about whether to go down that path before she died. But now, instead of being able to talk all this through with her -- to discuss what they both wanted, to interview the candidates and agree on who to hire, together -- he had to navigate this all. Alone.

What did he know about nannies? Even after reading countless articles online, he still felt like the answer was “fuck all”. He still had no idea what he needed, beyond someone reliable and trustworthy to look after his children while he worked. But how the hell could he be sure he’d make the right choice? 

He trusted his judgment when it came to suspects and witnesses -- he was excellent at spotting bullshit and dealing with scumbags. But unless this woman was totally unsuitable, how could he be certain she was not just alright, but that mystical “right fit” that he’d read so much about online? He wished he could have the reassurance of Lacey’s opinions to make sure he made the right decision. No, he couldn’t to do this -- not by himself.

He paced the kitchen restlessly without seeing where he was going and stubbed his toe against a cabinet and swore. Maybe he should just not call this woman, or not today anyway. He’d just continue using the daycare centre, that’d be simpler at least. 

But even as he thought it, he knew that was only a temporary measure, at best. The triplets hadn’t been doing well in daycare even before Lacey’s death. Plus even with the daycare discount the Seattle PD gave him, a nanny would probably work out cheaper in the long term. So he ought to just knuckle down and get started.

Yes, it’d so be easy for him to put off this decision for another day, until he was “ready” (a word that suddenly seemed to be used around him all the time since Lacey had died). But this wasn’t about him, he reminded himself, limping back to sit on a stool at the kitchen island once more. It wasn’t about what was easiest for him; it was about what was best for his children. He was their father and just because this phone call seemed hard wasn’t a good enough reason for him not to do it. 

Sure, they’d probably be all right in the daycare for a little while longer, it wouldn’t do them untold damage or anything. But eventually the same issues would come up again and he’d decide they needed a nanny. But then he’d have to try to hire one and do all the calls and interviews -- and whatever the hell else you had to do when hiring a nanny -- while juggling a full caseload and dealing with whatever was ailing the triplets that week.

Anyway even if he didn’t hire a nanny, he’d need to find a babysitter for after daycare because his schedule was too variable. Even with the flexibility the force was offering him now, he couldn’t guarantee a case wouldn’t require him to work unsociable hours. Lacey’s schedule had been much more predictable and so she’d done the bulk of the picking the children up, as well putting them to bed when he was back late. He’d need someone who’d be able to do that on nights when his cases ran into the evening anyway. So he might as well hire someone who could be there all day and offer more consistency for the triplets. Plus it’d be a relief not to have to get all three of them ready for daycare and into the car each morning.  
.   
But even reminding himself why hiring a nanny was a good idea, didn’t help him pick up the phone because it didn’t change the truth: he didn’t want his wife to be dead and to have to make this big decision without her input. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t know some of what her thoughts would have been on the matter. She’d mentioned some things when she proposed the idea a few weeks -- or was it months? -- back. But they’d never discussed concrete specifics. Sure, some would say he was lucky to be free to make this decision independently: he wouldn’t have to compromise with her over something she valued more than he did or vice versa. But he wanted to do just that, to discuss the details and argue over different candidates’ strengths and weaknesses. There was no way he could do this right without her. He was just an old cop who apparently still knew next to nothing about childcare, and even less about nannies. He trusted Lacey’s judgment and knew that, even though she didn’t know much about nannies either, together they’d have been able to work it all out and make the correct decision. 

Although... perhaps it wouldn’t matter anyway. Perhaps this whole call would be a dead end. It wasn’t likely that this woman would be free and able to take on his children at such short notice. So he was likely working himself up over nothing. 

Yesterday, the idea that this was likely a lost cause had made it easy for him not to pick up the phone. It had been so easy to convince himself that there was no point wasting either of their time -- even just inquiring -- given how improbable it was that she’d be available. But it had taken even more whiskey than usual for him fall asleep last night, and this morning he’d had to admit to himself that his cowardice yesterday was partially responsible.

He couldn’t let that happen again. He didn’t want to be an alcoholic fuckup of a father. He knew what it was like to have one of those and he would never put his children through that.

He took some deep calming breaths, and tried to focus on the fact that needing help with his children didn’t make him a failure as a father. Instead hiring a good nanny for them was actually him fulfilling his duty to do his best for them. 

He picked up his phone and found his favourite picture on it: Lacey, fresh out of the hospital, sitting in their bed cradling the triplets on her lap. He stared down at the image of her smiling tiredly up at him and felt tears prick his eyes once more. The fact that Lacey, so full of life (even at her most exhausted), was gone was still unbearable. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the hole in his heart, or the feeling that he was missing a limb without her. A nanny was no substitute for a mother and, at the thought of everything his children and Lacey would miss out on, he felt a now familiar stabbing pain in his chest. She had believed and trusted in his ability to be a good father though, and he didn’t want to prove her wrong. He focused on the image of his children’s tiny scrunched up faces. They needed him to do this for them, Lacey needed him to do this for them. He couldn’t let any of them down. 

Keeping those last thoughts in the front of his mind, he tapped open the phone call app. If she said ‘no’ that would be that. What did he have to lose? Maybe she’d even have some ideas who else he could try. He swiftly typed in her number and hit call before he could reconsider. 

“Hello, Clara speaking.” A bright Australian voice answered.

Weaver swallowed hard, his practiced opening script slipping from his mind at the sound of a voice so like Lacey’s and sat in silence for a few moments, not even remembering to breathe.

“Hello?” The Australian voice said again.

For a moment an absurd hope that his wife wasn’t dead, but instead just had amnesia and had forgotten her family, bloomed in his mind and took root in his heart. He was just about to say her name, when the voice spoke again. 

“Hello? Is anyone there?” It sounded so much like her and yet, the memory of Lacey on that cold slab in the morgue flashed before his eyes and pierced the bubble of his fantasy. His wife was dead, hoping otherwise didn’t change that. But if he didn’t reply now, he’d lose this nanny merely because she had the same accent as Lacey.

He shook his head and cleared his throat. “Yes, sorry. Hi...” He cleared his throat again, “Is this Clarabelle French, the nanny, speaking?” he managed, this time sounding a bit more like his usual self.

“Yes, speaking. Are you a parent looking to hire a nanny?”

With those extra words, he began to hear the differences between the voices. The nanny’s accent was almost identical to Lacey’s, that was true -- but it wasn’t Lacey’s voice. It was off somehow. The cadence was wrong, for a start, and there was some other dissonance that he couldn’t quite place. The train of thought sobered him, bringing him down from his fantasy. He remembered how to speak, how to call upon that air of confidence he used when dealing with suspects and witnesses.

“Yes, I was given your business card by a mutual friend... Roni. I need to hire a nanny for my young kids quite urgently, and she mentioned you might be available.”

“How urgently are we talking?” She replied, crisp and businesslike.

“Ideally next week, Monday, if possible. But I understand if that’s too short notice for you.”

“I see...” She paused, thinking, “Well, I am available in theory, but it seems quite a short timescale to get through the whole hiring process.”

He felt a thread of hope, perhaps this wasn’t a dead end after all and sat up straighter (even though she couldn’t see him). “I know it’s probably unusual. But I need to be back at work then and I don’t have anyone else to look after my children while I’m there.” 

“Ah, so it sounds like you are looking for a live-out nanny, if you only want me there when you’re working. Is that correct? I’d need to give you the names of some colleagues if you’re looking for a live-in nanny, I’m afraid. And is your job full or part-time, may I ask?”

“Yeah, it’s a live-out position. It’d be full-time too but my own hours can be somewhat variable. Is that a problem?”

“No. Well... at least not in theory,” she said. “Also is this just a temporary arrangement you’re looking for, or a longer-term one? Because I only work longer term contracts.” 

“Well, ideally, it’d be a long-term arrangement, but that’d obviously depend on your availability as well as how well the children adjust to the new arrangements.”

“That’s reasonable. Luckily for you, the client I had lined up recently moved away from the Seattle area so I could take on a longer-term contract right away -- assuming you decide I’m the right fit for your family. We can then assess how it’s going after 30 days, which is the standard trial period.”

He nodded, remembering a second later she couldn’t see him and calling himself an idiot, said, “Yeah, that sounds fine.”

“And can I ask what ages the children are?”

“Right, of course. They’re triplets actually, 10 months old next week. Is that something you think you can handle?”

She laughed. “Wow, baby triplets! Definitely must keep you on your toes.”

“Yeah.” He smiled.

“And triplets aren’t a problem for me -- I’ve worked with multiples before.” 

He could feel relief beginning to churn through him. This might just work out. “So would you be able to meet me later today to discuss the role in-person?”

“I can’t do later today, at such short notice, I’m afraid.” She did sound genuinely apologetic. “But I could do any time tomorrow morning or early afternoon?”

He nodded. “Sure, say tomorrow at noon?”

“That sounds perfect.” He could hear the vague sounds of her making a note of the time. 

He tapped his fingers against the countertop, what was he supposed to say next? Right, meeting time and place.

“How about we meet at Roni’s? It’ll be quiet at midday. Then if we think things’ll work out, take it from there?”

He supposed it was probably an odd look to interview a potential nanny at a bar. But he didn’t have a sitter he could call on, and at that time of day the bar would be quiet enough he could probably persuade Roni to watch the children for a while, if necessary.

“That sounds great!” She said brightly, not giving any indication she thought a bar was a strange place for an interview. Was that a good sign of her professionalism or a bad one? “But I, er, didn’t catch your name?” 

“Right!” He forced a laugh, even as he called himself a fucking idiot for forgetting to introduce himself. “I’m Detective Weaver…” He paused as he tried to think of what he’d read online about hiring a nanny. Was he forgetting anything major? He didn’t think so. “And now you have my number, in case you need to contact me about anything.”

“Great! I’ll see you noon tomorrow at Roni’s. I look forward to meeting you,” she said.

They finished off the conversation and he hung up, dropping his phone onto the counter with a thud. He gripped the counter edge tightly as he tried to steady his breathing. After he’d gotten over the initial shock of her accent, that hadn’t been so bad. She might actually be available, so this might all work out despite how long he’d put off calling.

He looked around the kitchen to the sink full of dirty dishes, he ought to do those now he supposed. But just then a cry came from down the hall, so he pushed away from the counter and hurried to the nursery.

Brandon, the youngest of the three and furthest from the door, seemed to be working his way up to a big screaming cry. His face was red and crumpled and if Weaver didn’t quieten him quickly, the other two would wake up too.

He picked up his youngest son, rocking him and crooning softly, “There, there now. Daddy’s here. What seems to be the trouble, lad?”

But Brandon’s cries just continued and grew even louder and Weaver’s hopes of this being quick were dashed when heard a grumbling cry from Melissa, the oldest. It was going to be another one of those afternoons, he already could tell.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you notice any typos or obvious errors do let me know. Comments are always appreciated!


End file.
